


It's Only For Tonight

by black_cosmos



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_cosmos/pseuds/black_cosmos
Summary: He reminds himself that this is only for tonight.He should not get used to this. Ozymandias is going to have to return to Chaldea where nothing has changed between him and Gilgamesh.After all, what are the chances that Master will summon this Caster version of Gilgamesh when they get back?He won’t see him again.It’s only for tonight.





	1. It's Only for Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse me as I set myself on fire over the fact that Ozymandias seems to only exist in fanart and in the game. I... what? So, let me be so bold and use him here. (Terribly so. I'm going to dig myself a hole and live there for the rest of my life.)

Although they have been invited to stay at the palace in Uruk, somehow their presence still feels intruding. This isn’t the first time that Ozymandias has been called into a battle with Master, after all, he is one of the first stronger servants that has been summoned to Chaldea. He has been present in a couple of fights beforehand, though not as common as Shielder has. He has had to stay where they have been warped to before as well, but never has the King of Kings felt like they are not welcomed somewhere they have been told to stay. It isn’t that the attendants are particularly cold to them, but it seems as though they are a little stiff about providing them with accommodations.

Perhaps it’s due to the fact that the gracious King of Uruk, himself, does not seem very keen of them.

Rather, of Ozymandias.

He can’t explain the hair-away-from-hostile looks he has gotten from the Gilgamesh of this timeline if he tried. It wouldn’t be because of anything he has said to him because he, simply, hasn’t spoken a word to him since they’ve met the Caster (and haughtier) equivalent of the golden Archer in Chaldea. He has stuck to the group, for the most part of being here. After all, protecting Master isn’t a task for one person, especially when his main Servant is a defensive-support type. He also has not stepped out of any line as far as he is aware of. This enmity is unwarranted. Ozymandias considers for a moment, that perhaps it’s because of Gilgamesh’s clairvoyance. He thought that he might be able to see into the future where Ozymandias is fond of relentlessly mocking his Archer equivalent. (In his defence, it’s mutual and their banters are that of two equals.) It seems rather far-fetched and Gilgamesh is a cruel person in many ways, but he isn’t petty.

It could also be that Ozymandias is just complicating things. As far as he could tell, this version of Gilgamesh is still very much like the man he knows. This means that if there were something he wanted to say, then he would voice it. He likes the sound of his own voice and someone with an overwhelming sense of self isn’t going to hold back on anything even if it is a spark that will start a fire. On the contrary the Gilgamesh he knows will more than happily speak out if it means initiating something, hostile or not. He decides to just push this to the back burners as it isn’t really important. He can’t change his mind about him and he doesn’t plan to.

They are each given a chamber to retire to after a simple dinner is served for them. As lush as Gilgamesh seems, he’s level headed when it comes to affairs of his state. The five of them coming from Chaldea is an affair of his state. They aren’t given a lavish reception, but they also aren’t given the opposite. It is adequate. Their temporary rooms, though, are bigger than the ones that they had in Chaldea. It’s a nice change. Ozymandias also appreciates that Uruk is warm, not like the icy terrain outside the facility. There are windows that aren’t barred with thick glass, the warm evening breeze filters through them. Their reception might be passable at best, but this room is more than enough to make up for that. There’s a single bed that is smack in the middle of the room with drapes to filter out the sun. There is a small wash area with a basin and washcloth, and plenty of those windows to keep the room cool. It will do.

Ozymandias has barely put his staff down when he hears the soft knock on his door. He turns to answer and a retainer bows lowly and speaks softly, “Master requests your presence, Your Highness.”

“At this hour?” He asks, unsure why they would be called just after they all parted to rest.

The servant nods without lifting his head. “I have been asked escort you.”

For a moment, the Egyptian King stares at the retainer, unmoving where he is. He takes into consideration everything. Firstly, what business could Gilgamesh have with him when he has given him nothing but glares and near-sneers of all the times that he has locked eyes with him? Then, he calls at a strange time, when everyone has just dispersed, and it seems like this summon is only for him. This man before him has said that he will be escorting him, and no implications that there will be anyone else. He takes his staff and sets a foot out of his room. “Very well.”

On the way to wherever Ozymandias is being taken to, he has kept recycling over and over the thoughts that he has considered before he agreed to go. He has brought his staff in half-thought that this might be when Gilgamesh decides to deal with whatever problem it is that he has with him. He really would rather not have to resort to violence to settle matters between them as this is not what they came here for, but with Gilgamesh? No one really knows for certain what he’s thinking. They come up the steps, towards the highest floor of the palace, from what he could gather. Upon arriving at the landing, he’s greeted with the door already. The entire floor is his room? How fitting.

The retainer knocks and he hears that ever commanding voice from the other side of the wall and the door. The other occupant of the landing aside from him bows opens the door for him and bows low again. Ozymandias walks passed him and into the room. He scans it, and he spots the golden-haired man easily enough. All of his naked back. It seems like he has just finished wiping himself dry from his wash, his back turned on him, wearing nothing but the robe he’s just about to pull on.

Is this on purpose?

Unlike his Archer counter part in Chaldea, this Gilgamesh isn’t as muscular. He’s still pure muscle, still moulded to the perfection, but he’s smaller. There isn’t as much mass to him. His markings are also different. Wherein he remembers the red markings that snaked his upper body back in the facility, the one in front of him only has that marking on his arm. Though there are a lot about him that are different, there is even more things about him that remains the same. His golden hair and sharp red serpentine eyes, being a few of the obvious ones that he still retains. He’s somehow more focused now as he is from recent memories of the other one. There is drive in him that the Gilgamesh he knows has long lost.

“Is leading a city that taxing? You seem lacking in body mass.” Ozymandias comments, and it’s both because he can’t help it, and because he wants to call for his attention. It might also be partially to make it less awkward that he has been staring at his behind—his back, he means—as he gets dressed.

Gilgamesh turns his head to look at him, running his fingers through the front of his hair, making them stand a little before they fall back down. “Or perhaps you should stop comparing me to someone I am not, Ozymandias.”

A knowing smile appears on those stupidly smug lips, tying the robe with a simple rope. Ozymandias doesn’t crack a smile or any sort of reaction. Gilgamesh doesn’t pay that mind, he walks over to a table where there is a pitcher of what Ozymandias could guess to be wine, and two golden goblets. He pours wine to both cups. He picks them both up, walking towards his guest. He pauses within arm’s length, tilting his head questioningly as he looks Ozymandias over. “Why have you come looking as though you are prepared for battle?”

Ozymandias cocks a brow upwards, crossing his arms across his chest with practice precision that the staff doesn’t even get in the way. “You ask me when all you’ve done is glared at me as though I opened hell’s gate and unleashed all your problems?”

Gilgamesh snorts a laughter, that same smug smile playing on his lips, “On the contrary, it is you who have been looking at me like you want to start a fight. I was merely returning your animosity.” He pauses for a shrug. “Though I believe I understand it a little better now why you have done so.”

“A bold claim, Gilgamesh.” He doesn’t back down from the challenge in Gilgamesh’s tone, he never has and he never will. He has been with the other Gilgamesh in Chaldea for a while now and he has yet to reach a point where he has to take a step back.

“Is it? It has come to my understanding that there is another version of myself back from where you come from.” Gilgamesh knows that he is about hit the button that he isn’t supposed to. That doesn’t stop him from doing so. “You’ve lusted for him.”

It triggers Ozymandias, his entire body language shifting to that of an animal who has just been attacked. The power that flows around him is as dangerous as it is alluring. “You dare—”

“You really don’t think I hadn’t noticed the way you look at me?” He cuts in, and that doesn’t sit well with the already angered king in front of him. Gilgamesh doesn’t care. “You’re easier to read than you think you are, King of Kings. Here I am thinking that my intentions for calling you here have been evident enough.”

Ozymandias glares at Gilgamesh, still unsure of what he’s talking about. Well. No, he knows. Deep down, he knows where all the pieces are leading up to. He doesn’t even really need to look that deeply. He’s been summoned after everyone has retired to their chambers. He’s allowed inside the room where he has seen Gilgamesh’s naked back exposed to him. Gilgamesh poured the both of them some wine. Not to mention, he’s standing so close in front of him, lounging, despite the fact that Ozymandias could attack at any time. He’s speaking about pining after someone—using more vulgar words—without batting a lash. Gilgamesh couldn’t possibly spell it out more obviously if he tried.

Somehow, it’s even more frustrating that it is clear as day what Gilgamesh is trying to do. Ozymandias’ fist tightens on his staff that his knuckles are starting to pale, “Do you think I’m that desperate that I will take advantage of your pity?”

That seems to amuse Gilgamesh as his initial response is to chuckle. When he calms down, he speaks, “I don’t know what kind of man the other Gilgamesh is, but I do not do pity. I, simply, am someone who gets what he wants.”

Gilgamesh smiles then, extending a goblet to Ozymandias. It’s as though he’s confident that Ozymandias isn’t just going to walk away from this. He could. He really could, in order to spite him and prove him wrong. He hates how arrogant he is that he thinks he could control him like this. He’s never had this problem with Gilgamesh back in Chaldea. He’s never been a smug bastard who saw through Ozymandias like he’s glass. There are a million different reasons and ways he could have used to just turn around and walk out that door, but he sees the way Gilgamesh eyes him. He sees the way his serpentine eyes rakes his body like he wants to do more than just look at him. The last part of what he says, about getting what he wants echoes in his ears like the words haunt him.

He takes the goblet being held up to him as he unknots where his arms are crossed.

He takes the apple from the serpent that has offered it to him: his one-way ticket out of Eden.

Ozymandias could start listing off reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this. The number one reason being that there’s nothing more frustrating than allowing his own feelings to be manipulated so he plays right into Gilgamesh’s hands. But as much as he hates that, despite the feeling of anger, a part of him understands that this is the only time he could do this. Ozymandias wants this. He isn’t going to be able to even get this close with the Gilgamesh that he knows back in Chaldea. What makes them so different? This Gilgamesh before him is aware and has acknowledged his attraction to him, perhaps the one in Chaldea knows of it as well, but he has shown no signs of interest. It’s only for tonight. After everything that happens here in Uruk, Ozymandias isn’t going to have to see this version of Gilgamesh. It’s his one shot to selfishly get what he wants without the strings attached. He can do this and go back to how things are between him and the Gilgamesh back in Chaldea.

It makes Ozymandias feel so defeated knowing that this man in front of him knows all this.

Gilgamesh’s smile widens to a smirk as he walks to the bed. He sits crossing his legs and swirling the wine in his goblet. He’s seated in such a way where he could watch Ozymandias. That’s exactly what he’s doing as he sips his wine, that irritatingly confident and knowing smirk still playing on his lips.

Ozymandias rolls his eyes as he walks towards the chair in a small table that could possibly be a desk except it’s empty. He sets his staff leaning against the chair. Like routine, he undoes the clasp of his cloak, draping it along the backrest of said chair, and his gauntlets and the rest of his armour follow it. He strips down until he’s left with his trousers and the half-shirt as Master has called it when he saw it. The collar goes up to his neck, and it extends to a long sleeve along his arms, but it doesn’t cover his torso. He picks up the goblet that he has set aside and when he turns to look at Gilgamesh, he’s sitting with his chin on his palm, leaning forward with his elbow on his knee.

“You are enjoying this too much.” Ozymandias points out, almost bitterly, leaning against the back of the chair where he’s set his things down.

“Perhaps.” Gilgamesh replies, drinking the rest of his wine without breaking eye contact. He sets the goblet down, tilting his head a little examining the man in front of him. “Are you so adverse to the idea of being seduced by me? After all, I can’t imagine that I have changed much from who I am… both as a person and how I look.”

Ozymandias lifts the cup to his lips to take a drink. He shouldn’t have expected anything but the best wine since Gilgamesh has also been drinking it. Frankly, he’s drinking to buy himself some time to think about a proper answer. He isn’t against the idea, and it is not that he’s so different from the Gilgamesh back in Chaldea. Ozymandias is frustrated that he’s playing right into his hands, yes. He’s also just aware that they are not the same person. They might have the same arrogant air about them, the same strength, but this man is not the Gilgamesh that he knows. What he didn’t expect is that when he puts his goblet down, Gilgamesh has started laughing. He laughs loudly, holding his forehead to his hand. Ozymandias says nothing, deadpanned as he stares at him.

When he calms down, Gilgamesh smirks at him and stands up. He closes the distance between them, reaching his arm to the side to set the goblet on the table where Ozymandias is leaning. He boxes him in intentionally this way. Ozymandias can safely say that he hasn’t been this close to Gilgamesh as far as he could remember. There is still breathing room between them, but not much. Gilgamesh reaches for his chin, tipping it up to meet gold with red—red alit with something Ozymandias would rather not know. He feels the pads of this thumb running along his lips as Gilgamesh speaks, “You… you are in love with me.” He pauses to make a point of it. “Rather… with him. Do you feel as though you’re betraying him by being with me?”

That’s the last straw.

Ozymandias has had it. Enough. Enough of Gilgamesh’s digging words. He’s not going to stand here and continuously be mocked by a man who knows way too much for his own good. Two-third gods or not, King of Uruk or not, he does not have the right to speak to him this way. Ozymandias is the King of Kings. He cannot toy with him like he’s just like everyone else.

He grabs a fistful of Gilgamesh’s golden hair as he pulls him down hard towards him, mouth crashing against mouth. It’ll shut him up as much as it will expedite things along. This is what Gilgamesh is after, is it not? This is what he wants. The words exchanged between them aren’t necessary. They hit each other’s mouth a little too hard that there is some pain when their teeth knocked against each other’s, but neither pays it too much mind. They settle after the initial crash. Gilgamesh’s hands find Ozymandias’ hips, one on each side as he shifts where their mouths are to include more lips and tongue rather than too much teeth. He gives them a squeeze as he flicks his tongue against its counterpart, withdrawing it from inside his mouth when he feels his jaw closing as if to bite at him. He would complain, but as soon as his tongue retreats, he feels Ozymandias’ in his mouth.

He supposes he could forgive his hastiness if it is out of eagerness.

Gilgamesh tilts his head as much as he could with the fingers still tight on his hair in order to deepen the kiss even more, opening his mouth and letting Ozymandias’ tongue lick and taste every part of his mouth. He flicks at it encouragingly with his own, rubbing against the underside and occasionally twisting around it. Ozymandias moves his free hand to Gilgamesh’s chest, towards the opening of the robe to feel the skin underneath. He doesn’t move them any more than that, settling against his chest. He tastes everything he could of Gilgamesh’s mouth, as if he’s trying to memorize what he tastes and feels like—something to remember him by. If he can only have tonight and the rest of the time he’s here in Uruk, he’ll make it count.

He breaks the kiss to breathe, licking away at the string of saliva that connected them together. Ozymandias has barely managed an exhale before he feels Gilgamesh’s hand on his chin again, holding him as he leans forward to close their mouths together once more. It pushes Ozymandias to slant a little where he’s standing that he has to withdraw the hand on Gilgamesh’s body so he could prop himself upright. This time, Ozymandias lets Gilgamesh explore his mouth with his tongue, closing his eyes and letting himself feel him. Every flick of his inquiring tongue, the way his hands move from his hips up to his sides. His hands travel from his sides to his shoulders and his arms. Ozymandias relents the hold on his hair, running it through the soft blonde strands as he scratches against his scalp with his fingernails. He sucks on his tongue, opening his eyes when he feels those red serpentine pair staring at him.

Ozymandias can see Gilgamesh smirk through his eyes. How is that even possible?

Their kiss breaks slowly, with kisses that transitions from how they are to something softer. Gilgamesh steps back and Ozymandias feels noticeably cooler without his body pressed against his a second ago. Ozymandias can feel his lips tingling from the kiss, his heart about to beat out of his chest. He isn’t a virgin. Not by a long shot, but this…

Gilgamesh smiles at him, walking backwards towards the bed. Before he reaches the bed, he stops. They don’t break their eye contact, and that smile once more turns to something else that makes Ozymandias’ chest tighten. He watches as Gilgamesh moves his hands towards his shoulder, pulling on the robes from there. It gets undone easily enough, and it falls to the ground. Ozymandias’ eyes are on the robes like magnet. His eyes flick up at the newly exposed skin.

Gilgamesh milks every moment of it.

He falls back on the bed, crawling backwards on it. He’s displaying everything as he does so. Ozymandias follows every movement: the way his legs stretch when he pushes himself up, the way his muscles flex and relax as he settles himself propped up by the headboard. He meets his eyes again and a smirk is present on his slightly swollen lips. He spreads his legs apart, tilting his head as if there’s a challenge as he exposes more and more of his body. Ozymandias narrows his own eyes, and shakes his head. He rids himself of his pants and kicks off his shoes, walking over to the bed. Gilgamesh extends his arms out, reaching to wrap his arms around him when he’s close enough with a smile as he pulls him down. Just when he thinks that he’s going to kiss him, he murmurs against his lips instead, purposefully breathing against them. “You seem to have enjoyed looking at me.”

“I could say the same to you.” He murmurs, narrowing his eyes and meeting those eyes that could only belong to the devil himself.

The corner of Gilgamesh’s lips pull up to a half grin, and Ozymandias groans in surprise when he suddenly feels a squeeze to his length. When did he…? Gilgamesh licks at his bottom lip, “I did. I like it.” Another squeeze. “Give me more.”

Ozymandias snorts and he seals their lips together once more. He likes it better when Gilgamesh’s tongue is put to other uses, like inside his mouth, tangling with his own tongue. He can feel Gilgamesh still stroking his length idly, and he moves his own hand to do the same to its counterpart. Gilgamesh smiles into the kiss, his other arm wrapping around Ozymandias to keep him closer as if the latter is going to go anywhere. Quite the opposite. Ozymandias leans closer to him, pressing their lengths together so he could wrap his hand around both their lengths. Gilgamesh hums between their lips in approval, rolling his lips against his tongue before letting go to continue where they left off tangling their tongues together.

This kiss and the movement of their hands stop—or at least on Ozymandias’ part—when Ozymandias sees something bright from behind his eyelids. He pulls back from the kiss and cracks an eye open, enough to see that Gilgamesh’s other hand is held up for some sort of a vial that’s being produced from one of the Gates of Babylon. He pulls back at the kiss, confused, and Gilgamesh chuckles wrapping his fingers around the vial and holding it up for Rameses. “It will hurt without it.”

He takes the vial and he looks back at him, meeting his eyes. “… me?”

“Did you want me to prepare myself? You are asking for too much, Ozymandias. I have already initiated this, don’t you think that—”

Ozymandias shuts him up with another kiss. He will never stop talking out of the love of hearing his own voice. His tongue is just as dangerous as the man who they belong to. That isn’t what he’s asking at all. The reason why he has been confused is because he’s never thought that Gilgamesh would ever give someone else control like this. Who would’ve thought that he would like to be the penetrating partner when he’s pretty sure one of the vile habits that the one in Chaldea had is deflowering virgins? He might’ve hesitated in their kiss though, thinking that. All things considered, does that mean that Gilgamesh has done this with a man before and has also received…?

As soon as the thought blooms in his mind, Gilgamesh literally nips it at the bud by nipping at his tongue. He doesn’t seem to like it that he’s thinking too much and not paying him outmost attention. Atypical of him, Ozymandias shouldn’t have expected anything less just because they’re in bed. He pushes the thought aside as he moves both hands now to uncap the vial. He feels Gilgamesh’s hand around their lengths also withdraw and his arms are around him now, both of them. He guesses that it’ll be a little difficult to do this as tangled as they are, but Gilgamesh proves him wrong by shifting his legs to spread them more, and lifting himself a bit, their groins no longer aligned, but his ass is exposed more. It allows for movement, Ozymandias can easily reach between the two of them.

He does just that after he pours the oil from the vial to coat the fingers of his one hand. Well, perhaps not exactly as Gilgamesh would’ve thought he would. He withdraws from the kiss and watches his face as he slips in the first digit past that tight first ring of muscle. It’s worth it. There is a split second between Gilgamesh looking a little daze from the kiss before it distorts to discomfort. The sound he makes from it is music to Ozymandias’ ears.

“N—ah!” He doesn’t take it slow, only with enough care not to tear him but not much more. He feels fingernails digging against his back, in either retaliation or reaction, but they dig enough that they bloom blood just below the surface of his skin. Gilgamesh opens his eyes to glare at Ozymandias, “Do you know what you’re—ngh!”

He doesn’t let him finish the question, he pushes his finger deeper, tearing another pained sound from Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh arcs his lower back like he’s trying to get away from the intrusion. Ozymandias feels himself smiling though he doesn’t understand what for. He feels he blunt nails drag from where they are near his spine outwards towards his biceps, and Ozymandias is certain that this time, it is in retaliation. Gilgamesh is probably going to leave marks where his hands like that.

That’s a lie. Ozymandias knows that he’s smiling because hearing and seeing Gilgamesh like this after everything he’s done tonight feels nothing short of _satisfying_.

Maybe part of it is also his pent up drive for the one back in Chaldea, too. Ozymandias isn’t sure anymore.

Gilgamesh hasn’t quite recovered before the digit inside of him his moving. He groans at the sensation, wondering where this persona is coming from when Ozymandias seemed all but reluctant to even do this in the first place. There’s no way he could miss the fact that he’s smirking at his reactions now. How could he when he’s right in front of him? He laughs. He laughs because he finds it hilarious how far this man fallen in such a short amount of time.

Ozymandias doesn’t appreciate that Gilgamesh laughs, and he twists his finger inside of him, and when it seems like he’s already used to it—too bad—he inserts a second digit to stop him from laughing. He doesn’t want to ask what he’s laughing for. He just wants him to stop. With two fingers, there are more options of what to do inside him. That includes spreading them to stretch out the muscles even more, turning them so he could reach and stretch the other sides inside of him. He earns the grunts and the continuous clawing at his back and the black skin-tight cloth that still clings to him. Though, he is certain they aren’t doing anything to hinder the marks blooming on his back.

When he feels that there is some give on the muscles that are tight around him, he pulls his fingers back. Ozymandias doesn’t know what he’s expecting of Gilgamesh, but it’s certainly not sitting up. For a moment, he thinks that he’ll tell him to stop, but he doesn’t. What Gilgamesh does makes Ozymandias feels like all the blood on his body is being focused on his length to a point that it’s starting to hurt. Gilgamesh shifts on the bed so that he could get on his hands and knees, jutting his ass up. Ozymandias has had to move where he’s initially settled, but the sight of him like this makes his throat dry as his mouth waters.

Gilgamesh is looking at him, and he doesn’t know how anyone could be on all fours, waiting to be fucked and still look smug. Gilgamesh is always an exception.

To everything.

“You might as well lick it if all you plan to do is stare.” Gilgamesh prods, wiggling his behind like Ozymandias needs a reminder of what he’s talking about.

The latter just rolls his eyes, and gets on his knees as well. He reaches for the vial that he’s forgotten—some of the contents spilling onto the bed—to find that there’s still some in there. It’s enough to coat his own length with, and he does so. He aligns himself properly, the head of his erection prodding but not quite adding enough pressure to breach. Perhaps that was on purpose. Maybe he has done that because he knows that Gilgamesh isn’t going to be able to stop himself from saying something. He waits until the right time, when he starts to hear him try to speak before he pushes himself forward.

Quick and hard. He stops only when it gets too tight to even try to push it. Ozymandias gets the reaction he’s going for. Gilgamesh _screams_ at the push, and his back arches as he squirms to try to contain the wave of the pain that suddenly rushed through him at the intrusion. He might have a high tolerance for pain from all his battles, but Ozymandias can imagine that any of those pains compared to being impaled back here.

He doesn’t relent. When Gilgamesh stops tightening up around him so much, he starts to pull back and then push back in, a little more at a time. There is nothing like this feeling. He has had sex with plenty of people before, but none of them has ever felt like this. It feels so tight and hot inside of Gilgamesh. The oil is making it easier to move, but he feels everything. It feels like his inside is just moulding around his length, accommodating him and fitting him just right. The friction is incredible, and he finds himself joining the chorus of Gilgamesh’s moans and grunts with his own.

Chorus that grows quieter, he starts to notice. He grips the globes of his ass where his hands are, letting his fingers dig there just as Gilgamesh has done for his stinging back. Ozymandias is trying to get his attention, and looking down, he sees that Gilgamesh is gripping a pillow. His face is half buried on it, and it’s muffling the beautiful sounds he’s making. Ozymandias grunts in frustration, thrusting particularly hard before he pulls out.

“Why—” Gilgamesh’s response to it is almost instantaneous, his voice sounds out of breath, and there isn’t even any bite to the word he manages to cough out. Has he reached the point that Ozymandias has? That point where he isn’t thinking anymore, and all he wants is more? He wants more of this pleasure and he wants to get off. There isn’t spite or anger or hesitation, just the addicting sensation of being inside Gilgamesh. Does he feel the same? Does Gilgamesh want more of his dick filling him up so mercilessly? He wants to know. He wants to see.

Ozymandias flips him over, hands on his hips, he turns him to his side. He then catches his legs so he could pull on them, lifting them so that the backs of Gilgamesh’s knees are on his shoulder, propping his behind high enough for him. He braces himself on his hands between Gilgamesh’s head, bending his legs awkwardly, but the latter is already far too gone to differentiate between the thin line of pain and pleasure. Or at least, Gilgamesh doesn’t seem to care about that.

“You—haa… want to see my face as you ram into me?” He asks, breathlessly, still managing to smile. “How perverse of you.”

“Should… you be talking? You’re the one… who seduced me….” Ozymandias retorts between gritted teeth.

Not wasting another moment, he seals their mouths together once more as he pushes himself into Gilgamesh again. Their kiss is nothing like how it is in the beginning. It feels messier, sloppier. Their focus though isn’t on the kiss. That’s just the icing atop the cake as the saying goes. Ozymandias picks up right where he left off, thrusting fervently like he’s chasing whatever heat has been lost between switching positions. He can feel Gilgamesh’s leg flailing a little where they are lifted up, their skins slapping with the movement of his hips—and squelching where they are connected.

He feels as though he can’t breathe. Ozymandias has changed their positions so he could watch Gilgamesh but he could barely see through the haze of the friction around his length. He feels him tightening up every now and then to add to that ecstatic sensation inside of him, and it feels like his whole body is being set on fire. Gilgamesh running his nails down along his spine wakes up even more nerves in him and he grunts with it.

Ozymandias is completely lost to everything else outside wanting to get off. He’s getting there. All of his boiling blood feels like they’re focusing on one place, and it surprises him to hear Gilgamesh’s strained voice calling out a name he hasn’t been called in a while, “Ra… Rameses…ngh!” it’s enough to get his attention, but it seems like Gilgamesh can’t communicate very well between the moans and—when did their kiss break? “Touch… mmnn—ah… me…”

It takes some time to process what Gilgamesh is talking about, but when it all clicks in, Ozymandias reaches between them, letting go of one thigh so he could start to stroke Gilgameh’s leaking erection between them. Gilgamesh moans in response, tightening up even more around his length. It’s a chain reaction that ends with Ozymandias grunting and pushing deeper and harder into him. He doesn’t speak, he just focuses on what he’s doing—until he gets to that point that he could no longer hold back. He can’t prolong this even if he wants this to go on for even longer. There is no way he can last. Not when it feels so perfect inside Gilgamesh, that friction coaxing him further and further into oblivion.

“Gil—I…” Ozymanias chokes out his words. He can’t even call his name anymore. He feels Gilgamesh’s arms wrapping around his neck, a tongue licking along his lip and mouth.

“Inside—ah!—I want you to come… inside of—ha—me.” Gilgamesh murmurs as he takes a small break form where he’s still moving his lips and tongue on Ozymandias’ mouth.

Most of the time, Gilgamesh’s word is law. What he says goes, but he doesn’t think that saying those words is going to make Ozymandias thrust even faster—even harder like he’s chasing after something he could never catch. It shifts where he is in the bed, and it rocks him to the core. With one last powerful thrusts, he feels the hot spray inside of him, and that’s what undoes him. The hand along his length has helped, but that’s the point where Gilgamesh tightens his arms around Ozymandias, arching his back. Gilgamesh half screams his moan when he sprays his own come between the two of them. He clamps down around the intrusion inside of him like he could hold on to this sensation that takes over his entire body like a flood. Ozymandias slumps against him when he’s fully spent, and the two of them remain as they are.

They’re basking in their afterglow. It feels, for the both of them, that they are just floating on clouds. Gilgamesh is already starting to doze off, perhaps he even does for that brief moment before Ozymandias is shifting. He slides out of him, and he could feel him leaking from the frothed come that Ozymandias has done when he continued to thrust in him long after he’s orgasmed. He sets his legs down on the bed and he slips out of the bed. Gilgamesh reluctantly sits up, already feeling the slight twinge of his hips. Ozymandias comes back with a wet washcloth to wipe him with. Wordlessly, he lays back down and lets him clean the both of them up.

Ozymandias is thinking too loudly, which is why Gilgamesh breaks the silence between them. “Stay here with me.”

Ozymandias looks at where Gilgamesh has laid back down, eyes closed and seemingly ready to sleep. He doesn’t even look like he’s interested whether or not Ozymandias follows what he says. The King of Kings stops himself from thinking better of it, sliding back on the bed and sharing the same blanket as Gilgamesh is using.

He reminds himself that this is only for tonight.

He should not get used to this. Ozymandias is going to have to return to Chaldea where nothing has changed between him and Gilgamesh.

After all, what are the chances that Master will summon this Caster version of Gilgamesh when they get back?

He won’t see him again.

It’s only for tonight.


	2. The Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is also the fact that everything is coming to an end and their stay in Chaldea might be over, after whatever it is that is about to happen. This might very well be the last time they’re going to meet in friendly terms (or ever) as no one can say if they both won’t be involved in a future Grail War or what have you. 
> 
> He can at least grant him this. This is the last time, after all.

Unsurprisingly, in light of what’s happening in Chaldea, the baths are empty. No one really is in the mood to soak in warm water when after getting back from Uruk, the alarm bells has started to go off.   
  
It’s the final battle.  
  
The spark that has been set a year or so ago has travelled down the fuse and is nearing the blasting cap. Of course, Ozymandias has not been around for that entire ride like some of the other Servants here have been. He is as much as Master’s Servant like all of them are. He knows that when it comes down to it, he will be there to support and help Master however it is that he is needed. He will be there at a moment’s notice, but as such, he needs the time to just wind down.  
  
He has been in Uruk with Master. There is definitely a rather somber atmosphere coming back from there. With everything that’s happened, how could anyone not feel that weight? Perhaps it’s just with him, considering everything that’s happened with him and Gilgamesh. Those happenings that he will not speak of. Happenings that he will take to his grave and back to the Throne of Heroes.  
  
Though he thinks that everyone is affected, there’s this cloud, a weight on everyone’s shoulders, even on those who had not been from the Singularity beforehand.

The end is near, and all that.   
  
Despite this, Ozymandias makes his way down to the baths. He needs time to think. He needs some time for himself to be alone somewhere he could relax. Of course, he doesn’t have a luxurious bath just for him as he has when he has been living, but the common baths are adequate.

It’s even better now that there isn’t a soul in here. He washes up, scrubbing himself clean like he could clean off everything that has happened from Babylonia. After he rinses off, standing by the spray of the showers longer than necessary, he walks to the pristine and slightly steaming water. It looks untouched, unspoiled, and simply waiting for him. The King of Kings lowers himself to the water, letting his skin and body soak in the warmth. It feels as though his muscles are instantly relaxing, the toxins seeping out, the tension worming away from his pores. He runs his fingers to sift through the hair sticking to his face.

For a moment, he just lets himself soak in the middle of the bath. His eyes are closed as if he could imagine his memories slipping from him. It’ll do him no good here. There is something happening right now in Chaldea that is greater than himself, but he is still a King. He is a pharaoh, and there is always a selfishness that comes with his ego. He knows this, and he allows it. After all, he is the sun. The planets spin around him; he is the centre of this universe. 

He will resolve the issue of his heart before long, he’s sure.   
  
When he opens his eyes, it is to move to lean his back against the edge of the bath, sitting himself comfortably. Late as it is, he thinks about how he missed out on bringing drinks in here. He could really use some wine—  
  
—and like the devil himself who gets summoned as soon as you have a catalyst, he hears the sliding doors open. With Ozymandias’ back turned to the direction of the door, he has to tip his head up and back a little to see. He doesn’t know how his own expression shifts, but Gilgamesh pauses. The red of his pupils becomes a little obscured with the way he narrows his eyes. That’s quickly dispersed with an amused snort, and Ozymandias turns his head back.  
  
If there is such a thing as a slight consolation, he’s at least seated where his back is naturally turned to the door and the showers. Why, of all people, is Gilgamesh here? Why now of all times? He refuses to believe that his thoughts about wine has brought this man over.  
  
“You’re the last person I thought I’d see here.” Gilgamesh declares, and Ozymandias can hear him turn on the shower. He sounds way too pleased with his own observation. He can hear the water when it stops hitting tile and starts hitting body instead. He doesn’t need to turn to look.  
  
Ozymandias knows the milk-like complexion of his skin. He knows how perfectly they span and stretch his muscular body. The red markings all over his body instead of the ones he has touched back in Uruk. His build is similar now to his own—  
  
—what is he thinking?  
  
Is he insane?  
  
This is exactly why he should’ve just walked away. This is why he shouldn’t have let his desire get the best of him. He’s wondering if he could still face him. Would Gilgamesh, with his often too great observational skills, know? Would he know about what he has done in Uruk?  
  
Ozymandias doesn’t want to find out.  
  
“If you’re so adverse with my company, then leave. I was here first.”  
  
At that, he feels a washcloth, wet and used being dropped on his head, the sound of a snort, and feeling Gilgamesh slipping into the water with him. “Not what I said.”  
  
Ozymandias rolls his eyes, half tempted to throw the washcloth back to Gilgamesh, but the effort is way more than the reward at this case. He doesn’t look at him, he just tosses the washcloth to the side and leans the back of his head against the edge of the bath.  
  
All the while, Gilgamesh is watching him from his peripheral. It takes a miracle for the two of them to be in the same room with extended silence. Therefore to say that this is strange is probably an understatement. Usually, no two seconds will pass since the last conversation, and this boisterous pharaoh has found something else to talk about. If not him, it would be Gilgamesh. They talk about everything and nothing at all, because there is nothing like two men full of themselves who like the sound of their own voices sitting in the same room. The silence is almost jarring.  
  
Something must’ve happened.  
  
The King of Heroes would be curious enough to ask, except that he knows where Rameses is before he’s come back with Master. It almost feels like a taboo to even mention Babylonia to him. In fact, he doesn’t think anyone from the singularity has come up to him since. As considerate as that may be, he’s no sensitive man that needs their consideration. That has been million of years ago, he has gone through so much other things since then. They all have had their fair share of misfortunes and suffering. It seems to be the minimum to be able to sit in the Throne of Heroes.  
  
He doesn’t want to know what Ozymandias has seen. Oldest Hero as he is, Gilgamesh remembers everything. If memory serves him right, even with a singularity in Babylonia meaning things have gone awry, they are time in his life that he would rather not revisit. He has to remind himself to show his gratitude to Master for not bringing him along.

He produces his favourite golden wine goblets along with its accompanying jar. He pours one for his silent company, holding it up towards his direction. It takes a couple of heartbeats before Ozymandias raises his head, opens his eyes. He looks between the goblet and the blonde before he takes it, shifting where he’s sitting so that the bath water doesn’t flow into the precious wine that Gilgamesh hardly shares with people. After his good deed, he pours one for himself before letting the jar disperse into gold dusts, returning it back to his vault. 

“You’re different from the Gilgamesh that we have met.” Ozymandias says after he sips at his wine. Gilgamesh almost wants to tell him that the wine is meant to be his form of consolation. He’s not trying to initiate a conversation. The two of them would be better off just sitting around.  
  
“Hence the reason why it’s a Singularity.” He replies dismissively, leaning back against the edge of the tub where he is. Unfortunately close to this man, but he doesn’t want to have to move. “It wouldn’t have if things have run in the ways that it had in the past. If I were exactly as I am.”  
  
There is silence. For a moment, Gilgamesh thinks that he has successfully managed to mitigate away from that topic. That’s robbed so easily when Ozymandias speaks again, a little quietly, “We lost Uruk.”  
  
That makes him lets out a breath. It’s an audible breath, a cross between exasperated and perhaps a little fond. He moves so he could lean his back against Rameses’ side. He doesn’t turn to look at him, but he does drink a little more.  
  
“What has gotten into you? I have never known you to ever lower your voice beyond loud and obnoxious. If you are feeling pity for me, do not. It’s the last thing you will do if that is the case. I’ll maul you down on the spot if you continue.” Gilgamesh warns, turning his head to meet those golden eyes. He sees surprise in them for a moment, but he doesn’t focus on that. He turns away again though, as he continues to muse, “If that Gilgamesh is anything like me, I wouldn’t have felt any regret. I would’ve done everything that I could, everything in my power. If the outcome is still that Uruk is lost, then it is beyond my power at the time to do more than what I was already able to. What kind of a King do you take me for?”  
  
Ozymandias shifts, and it makes Gilgamesh move again from where he is, back to lean against the side of the tub. For a moment, the latter thinks that his companion might get up to go, but that’s not the case.It’s Ozymandias’ turn to move. He’s now sitting so he could be facing Gilgamesh. He has set his goblet to the side of the bath, maybe forgotten, and Gilgamesh wants to call out that if he wastes his wine, it’ll be the last time he gets some. He’s looking at his golden eyes, an unreadable expression on them. His facial expression is of a resolved one, which just raises a brow on Gilgamesh.  
  
“It doesn’t mean that the loss isn’t painful.”  
  
That makes Gilgamesh laugh.   
  
He laughs, and Ozymandias’ face doesn’t shift. What in the world is this man thinking? What’s going on in that brain of his? More importantly, how is the loss of Uruk something that’s affected him this much? There has got to be more. Perhaps the King of Heroes already knows what that more is, though. He has always known. This man might think he’s hiding the affection he feels for him, but Gilgamesh knows it when he sees it. Is that it? Is this what that is all about? What else has he seen that he’s now willing to act on it?  
  
Ah, but then it makes sense, doesn’t it? Uruk is lost, and Ozymandias seem determined to comfort him. He seems to have found some appeasement when he’s told him that he would have no regrets. Uruk isn’t the only one they lost in that Singularity. The version of himself in Uruk also likely went down with it. It must’ve spooked this man about that whole ‘you never know when you could lose someone’. Is it really a surprise that even someone like him can die? How flattering.  
  
There is also the fact that everything is coming to an end and their stay in Chaldea might be over, after whatever it is that is about to happen. This might very well be the last time they’re going to meet in friendly terms (or ever) as no one can say if they both won’t be involved in a future Grail War or what have you.

Gilgamesh sets his goblet aside, well more like he disperses it into gold dust. He turns now so he could face his companion, a smirk playing on his lips. He reaches a wet finger under his chin, lifting it up a little like he’s scrutinizing his eyes. Gilgamesh loves gold and he doesn’t think that Rameses’ eyes are any exception. They’re undeniably one of the things he likes about him. It isn’t that he doesn’t like this man. It’s more so that he does like him, but he doesn’t necessarily have that affection in the way Ozymandias does for him. He likes his company, he’s not been around someone who is in so many ways like himself. There are few and far between whose ego equates their strength in the same level as Gilgamesh. 

“Oh? How bold. Are you proposing, perhaps, to comfort me?” He leans forward, he encroaches the space between them. Gilgamesh might even say that he’s crossed the line this way. Much to his surprise, Ozymandias isn’t fazed at all. In fact, he feels his hands on his hips at the same time as he feels him come closer despite the mess of their legs between them.   
  
He can at least grant him this. This is the last time, after all.  
  
“Or are you the one that needs comforting?” The blonde whispers, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around his neck. He moves his head to kiss him, though he does… he does hesitate for a fraction of a second, lips near Ozymandias’ where he could feel his warm breath. As it is with the sun, everything about him from his hands, his breath, and where their bodies are close with each other… it’s all very warm. It could just be the bath, too. In that moment of hesitation, Rameses tips his head to meet his lips.  
  
It isn’t at all how he thought it would be. It’s a soft, chaste kiss. His lips feel soft and moist. That’s definitely because of the steam of the baths, he thinks. He closes his eyes, opening his mouth to pry Ozymandias’ with his. He delves his tongue into his mouth. It’s even wetter and hotter in his mouth. He tastes like his favourite wine, which is to say, not a bad taste at all.  
  
Is it in bad taste that he’s taking him like this? Is this because pity, perhaps? Ozymandias would hate him for it. Gilgamesh knows that’s not the case, at least not so much. He’s ignored that affection for him because he doesn’t want to cultivate it to something more. He would rather have this pharaoh, who is a friend of his, longing rather than hurt over the fact that he can’t return these affection. But after all this time, and the fact that no one really knows what’s going to happen after they fulfill Chaldea’s purpose, perhaps he could at least give him something to remember him by.

Maybe he’s also giving himself the same thing. Perhaps he wants to remember him.

It’s a comfortable kiss, Ozymandias is going slow, maybe in some strange mentality that he might wake up if he goes too fast and this isn’t happening. His tongue moves languidly, but surely, there’s no hesitation in each flicks that somehow manages to hit spots that are just right. It’s starting this pleasant warmth that feels like he’s absorbing it from the air around them, internalizing it to his core. It’s definitely a pleasant kind of warmth.  
  
Ozymandias moves slowly like his kiss, and Gilgamesh is about to lean back against the edge of the bath, but their position stops him. But the latter is now sitting on his lap, his legs crossed and against the blonde's back, his arms around his neck. Somehow, he’s pulling them even closer. Is that even possible?  
  
Gilgamesh would’ve paused to think about it, but instead he lets his hand find Ozymandias’ sides, his hips. He follows the strong muscles upwards, stopping only when he hits his armpits, looping his hand around them to follow his arms. Well, he isn’t going to deny that this man before him is gorgeous. Feeling him beneath his arms just fortifies what he already knows of how impressive he is. For one of the people who embodies the sun in Chaldea, this man is probably the closest to it. Strong—radiating this eternal heat that he’s now sharing with him.  
  
He lets him know that he appreciates this beauty. Gilgamesh’s hands travel long Ozymandias’ body, squeezing at certain muscles like he’s trying to gauge how the power they carry. He knows that he probably can’t even come close to distinguishing that by just touching them like this, but that makes them all the more impressive. His hands traverses his arms and then to his sides, sliding further and spanning his back. They feel as impressive as they look. He mirrors the hand eagerly travelling to touch the muscles of his back.  
  
The kiss takes no tempo faster, their tongues dancing and tasting each other. They probe at places in each other’s mouths and then lick against each other. There is such a thing as getting lost in the moment because everything else fades in the background. It doesn’t matter that this might be the first and last time they’re together like this. It doesn’t matter that they’re nearing the end. It doesn’t even matter that they are in the baths and anyone could just walk in here at any given moment.  
  
The kiss breaks. Rameses lets his mouth wander from where their lips are connected to the side of Gilgamesh’s mouth, then along his jaw. He ducks further down to pay attention to his neck now, which Gilgamesh invites. He tips his head upwards, looking at the ceiling of the bath wondering where this is even going. So, naturally, he tests it. He rolls his hips to where he feels Ozymandias’ weight is on him. The said man isn’t expecting it, so he gasps at the feeling, tightening his arms around him a little.

There is a lot more subtleties and silence between them than Ozymandias thought there would be. Back in Uruk, it feels like Gilgamesh has done nothing but talk. Though on top of that, he also initiated things. It feels like the entire time, he is just being pulled along a string and he’s had no choice but to follow. There isn’t any of that here now. This man is leaving everything rather open, he’s testing for reactions, for where Rameses would like to go. 

And how could he possibly pass up on such an offer? He knows. This man beneath him doesn’t have to say it, everything is rather obvious.   
  
This will be the first, and the last time.

Ozymandias takes it upon himself to keep going. He returns the way Gilgamesh grinds against him, much to the latter’s surprise. The surprise quickly dissipates and he smiles to himself, ducking his head down now that Rameses is kissing along his chest so he could taste the dark skin of his shoulder, wrapping his arms securely around his lower back. He anchors him there as he responds to the way they’re now rubbing against each other.   
  
The heat of the bath, mingled with the heat of their bodies is making Ozymandias a little dizzy with the pleasure. Enough so that he doesn’t notice it this time when Gilgamesh opens a gate to produce a borderline ostentatious vial of oil. Gilgamesh is trying to consider the best way to do this, but either way, he thinks that the water will be involved. That’s fine, the oil will not wash off, but he can’t imagine it’ll be all that comfortable for Rameses. A thought, needless to say, has never even occurred once to his counterpart in Uruk.  
  
He loosens his arms enough to catch the vial, moving a hand above the water so he could pour the warm oil onto his fingers. He strokes it between his fingers, coating them thoroughly, before he settles the vial off to the side, “You’re going to have to sit out of the water.”  
  
The pharaoh looks up from where he’s adorning his partner's chest with his mouth, blinking in what looks to be confusion at first. Then it all clicks, he doesn’t even realize that he says the same thing as he has the first time around. “Me?”  
  
Gilgamesh raises a brow, reaching for Ozymandias’ chin with his cleaner hand. He tips his head up to meet his eyes, so that they’re at eye level of each other. Oh, does he ever want to penetrate him. The two of them are in the same level when it comes to their egos, their strength. Rameses hates to lose, to give in, but the way he asks that doesn’t seem like he’d put up too much of a fight if he insists. He leans forward to kiss him again, briefly, teasingly.  
  
When he pulls back, he whispers against his lips, “Don’t you want to know how it feels like to be shaped around me? To be held by me…? I can let you have something to remember me by, Rameses.”  
  
Gilgamesh’s words shoot straight down his spine, making him unintentionally shudder despite feeling that heat around them and between them. Ozymandias tightens his arms around his neck again and he nods. “Tell me how you want me.”  
  
_In more ways than I can put to words._  
  
Without another word, Gilgamesh wraps his arms around Ozymandias, supporting his weight. He lifts him out of the water, setting him on the edge of the bath. He settles between his legs, still partially submerged in the water. It doesn’t matter that anyone can just walk in on them. It doesn’t matter that there are more comfortable places to do this, the need is now mutual. The King of Heroes isn’t one to seek the warmth of someone else’s body, but he has let this man closer than he thought he has before. There is some regret here—regret that it’s over after tonight, but perhaps that all the more reason to make every moment count.  
  
He claims Rameses’ mouth as he massages against that twitching ring of muscle of his behind. Eager, and maybe a little nervous. He can’t imagine that Ozymandias has much experience receiving, if at all. He waits for him. The brunet, in the meanwhile, is trying to focus more on the kiss, where their mouths are together, rather than the touch between his legs that makes him feel like that part of him is on fire. Gilgamesh is surprisingly patient with him. It feels like it takes a while before he even start to push inside of him.

It takes much longer, he feels. What he’s done to Gilgamesh in Uruk does not compare to the way he’s being held now. This one takes his time, pushing his finger deeper only when he’s used to the stretch. Rameses could accuse him of teasing, of purposely making him tighten up or push down on his finger to show his need for more, except the arrogance in which Gilgamesh carries himself isn’t there. There is only attentiveness… care. Even up to the point that he pushes the second finger in, and the third. 

Gilgamesh touches Ozymandias like he’s a weapon from the vault. It’s as if he knows every thing about his body. Every pull of his fingers, each twists, thrusts and movements resonates throughout his body. It pulls moans and twitches, groans and tightening his fingers against his shoulder, his back. He feels the sounds he makes against his mouth where he’s still stubbornly kissing him. Gilgamesh moves his mouth forward when Ozymandias pulls back to try to breathe. He doesn’t want to let him pull back too much. This is the first time they’re together so intimately, but he’s touching him and making love to him like they’ve already memorized each other’s body. 

Ozymandias collapses forward against Gilgamesh when the kiss finally breaks, moaning to the open air of the bath as he does so. He wraps his arms around him again, not sure if the moisture on his body is from the bath’s condensation or his own sweat. Both?   
  
Gilgamesh is still moving his fingers inside of him, even as he asks, murmuring against Rameses’ chocolate hair with a smirk. “I want you… on my lap. You are a Rider, are you not?”  
  
Ozymandias chuckles, biting at his lower lip when Gilgamesh pulls his fingers back. “Don’t say such vulgar things.”  
  
They’re both a little not sure about Gilgamesh lubricating himself and then sitting on the bath again, submerged in the water, but that doesn’t stop them from moving forward. Ozymandias slides into the water, straddling his lap. He sets his hand on his shoulder, his gold eyes on those serpentine ones, watching. He reaches a hand behind him holding his erection to guide it inside of him as he starts to sink down on both him and the water.  
  
Gilgamesh has taken his time in stretching him, despite the girth, it feels like he can take him. He can so long as he doesn’t just drop his hips down as much as he wants to. Ozymandias is encouraged by the hands on his sides, massaging and squeezing. He’s even more encouraged when he hears him groan as the head of his erection slips inside of him. Rameses responds with a moan, gripping at his shoulder where his other hand is.  
  
“… ngh—slow…” Gilgamesh murmurs and Ozymandias isn’t sure if he means to go slow… or that he’s doing this too slow. Either way, he isn’t about to rush into this or slow down. He’s already let Gilgamesh pull him along in Uruk, it’s his time now.  
  
He feels the girth—oh, god, does he feel it. It is way more than his fingers have done for him, but there’s something about the burn of his stretch that makes Ozymandias groan. Maybe it’s just that this is Gilgamesh, that in a way, he has waited for this for a long time, but he likes it. He likes that stretch, and he wants more of it. He groans, not even sure how he could take him all in when only a part of him is making him feel like he’ll lose his mind any more of this.  
  
The blonde is feeling like the man riding him isn’t just going down on him slowly because he’s trying to get use to the stretch of his length. He feels like he’s also doing it to tease him. He can’t tell. He feels good. He feels impossibly tight despite having stretched him for as long as he has done it. He doesn’t know how he keeps still. Well, to be fair, he doesn’t keep still. At some point when he feels like he’s about settled in the cradle of his lap, Gilgamesh thrusts his hips upwards the last bit of it. Ozymandias moans, but like this… like this they’re connected.  
  
Rameses’ breath against his skin feels hot, which is impossible considering his entire body is burning from exertion, sex, and the heat of the baths. Yet, he feels like he’s breathing so warmly against where he’s dropped his head, gathering himself. It’s as if there’s a way to collect himself when they’re both in absolute ruin with the pleasure of being one. Tangles of flesh that seems not to matter, just the pleasure seeping into every pore opened by the steam of the baths.  
  
Gilgamesh wraps his arms around his lower back, supporting Ozymandias when he starts to lift himself. He inches his way up just as he inches his way down, finding an awkward rhythm that’s mirrored by the water around them, slapping against them and the walls of the bath. The friction between them feels like there’s suddenly a spark being generated, igniting their bodies even more if it were possible. Ozymandias finds a more steady beat to lift himself and drop himself down, and since he still looks like there’s still some discomfort in the layers of pleasure he’s wrapping himself into, Gilgamesh takes it upon himself to make him feel even better. He’s touched his prostate when he’s stretching him, so he knows where it is approximately.  
  
He slides down a little, angling himself better and helping by bucking his hips upwards to meet the downward motion of the body above his and sure enough—  
  
“Ah! Haa!! Gilgamesh!” Ozymandias exclaims, boldly, shamelessly. He lets his body and his voice do as they please. There is no hiding this pleasure, there is no holding back.  
  
So he doesn’t. His hips pickup in movement, and if this is what desperation means, then so be it. Grinding inside of this man feels good, to the point that the heat and the friction feels like they’re bubbling beneath his skin, ready to explode. He knows that Rameses is not too far behind either, he can hear him. He can feel him tighten around him like he wants to keep him still with each thrusts to his prostate. The move with wild abandon, forgetting where they are—who they are.  
  
There is only pleasure, and who are they but beings of flesh and need, at the end of the day?  
  
There isn’t even warning. Gilgamesh just tightens his arms around the warm body over him and he thrusts up one last time before he orgasms. He buries himself deep inside of that wet heat, deaf to his own moan, and the sound of water splashing about them. That is Ozymandias’ trigger before he tightens up around the length inside of him, gripping it like he’s trying to milk him for every drop before he comes between them.

In that mess of pleasure and flesh, neither of them are aware that Gilgamesh has bitten on Ozymandias’ shoulder as he rides out his orgasm. The King of Kings, on the other hand, is also numb to the fact that he’s clawed on his friend's shoulders and back, tearing him up in pleasure. They are both utterly spent, and far to sated to think badly of what they’ve just done.

 

After a while of just… staying in the soiled water, Gilgamesh kisses the side of his head and nudges him along. Now that they’ve done perhaps the ultimate sin of dirtying the bath water with come and sweat, they ought to leave before they’re caught and then forced to clean. That is not a job for kings. They rinse in the shower, and gets dressed in their mana-made clothes after drying off.  
  
Ozymandias has never thought that he takes advantage of the fact that he is a Servant with a Servant body until now. He’s thankful that he heals rather quickly, no one would suspect a thing that he has just had sex in the baths. He and Gilgamesh walk the length of the hallway from the baths to where the sleeping quarters are. Chaldea hasn’t really been this quiet since he’s gotten here, he doesn’t think. It’s a little alarming, but all things considered, he thinks that he can understand the mood. He is also fairly certain that it is because of the ‘all things considered’ that what happened between him and Gilgamesh in the baths did.

As much as a pain in the ass Gilgamesh usually is, he is kind. That goes for the Caster version, too. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have given his life. He wouldn’t have done half the things he has done for him and Master in Uruk. There is some closure, Ozymandias thinks. However slight, whatever it is that might happen after the Time Temple, he at least has this peace of mind. He can now move on, and set his mind more on what’s happening. 

Well. He supposes that would be the case if only he knew what’s happening. 

As they near the living quarters, voices of different Servants talking a little bit excitedly fills the air. He can see in his peripheral that Gilgamesh is as confused as he is. He’s making a face, an annoyed one. By the looks of it, Gilgamesh is ready to turn the corner, tell these _mongrels_ to have a little respect. A look that instantly drains the moment they turn the corner. 

The shift in Gilgamesh’s aura is palpable. Ozymandias looks at the crowd ahead of them. A certain person with striking green eyes—as opposed to purple—short green hair stands amongst the group. This must be… Enkidu. The real one and not just their body reanimated with someone else using it. They lift their head up, surprised at seeing Gilgamesh.  


Enkidu’s expression softens, and there’s a soft smile on their face. They’re just looking at each other’s eyes and as an outsider, he can tell that there are a lot of unspoken things happening between them.  
  
If this has been the reason why he didn’t stand a chance with Gilgamesh, he doesn’t really wonder why. He might have been over Enkidu’s death as the Wise King—his Caster version in Uruk—but this is the Archer version. He’s the one that has been around for as long as he has, the one that has seen more time being alive again. He can recognize the look of longing in Gilgamesh’s face better than anyone. After all, it is the same look of longing Ozymandias had for Gilgamesh.

It feels like an eternity passes before he feels Gilgamesh shift beside him. Everyone around Enkidu has gone quiet with collected breaths, waiting just as Ozymandias is. It doesn’t surprise him that Gilgamesh’s response is to take a step back. The moment he does, Ozymandias reaches for his wrist. Gilgamesh looks at him, with an expression between irritated, surprised—and mostly conflicted. He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen the great Gilgamesh wear this expression before. He gives his hand a squeeze before he tugs him towards where Enkidu is.   
  
Gilgamesh takes a step forward.  
  
Then two.  
  
He breaks into a run, which Enkidu does, too, meeting him half way. He embraces them tightly, and despite being taller, Gilgamesh looks so small curling up and pressing his face against Enkidu’s shoulder.

As much as Ozymandias knew that having sex with Gilgamesh in the baths doesn’t mean that they’re suddenly in a relationship, it still sucks to acknowledge that he lost. It hurts to face the truth that it’s never really meant to be. He doesn’t know if he feels better or worse going back to the Throne of Heroes with his emotion attached to him.

“What are you looking so pathetic for?” The question and the voice that speaks it makes him jump. He turns his head so fast to his side and back that Ozymandias is sure he whips his head in the process.   
  
Well. Damn.  
  
“Caster.” He mutters, meeting those shining serpentine red eyes. They’re glinting with something Ozymandias doesn’t want to read too much into. There’s a smirk on his lips and that same haughty air like he hadn’t witnessed him die just a little while ago. He supposes if Enkidu is summoned, then there is also a chance that he, too, will be. Perhaps he hasn’t wanted it to be a possibility but it’s staring at him now in the face.

“You really ought to learn that if you love someone, you have to let them go.” Gilgamesh teases as he slides his eyes a little towards his Archer version, still embracing Enkidu. 

Ozymandias’ lips form into a smile, shaking his head. He’s as unreasonable and bull-headed as he has been in Uruk. But that is also every bit about Gilgamesh that has attracted Ozymandias to him. He doesn’t say anything, he just keeps going forward. Gilgamesh does, too, at least, this Caster. For the first time since coming back from Uruk—well, he doesn’t want this to be the end.   
  
How could he when this is just the beginning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh!  
> I've finally gotten around to writing this!! I hadn't edited this because I wanted to get it up by Valentine's Day. Thank you for reading!! And for those who waited: I am so sorry I suck.  
> They are still my OTP ; _ ; I love them so very much.


End file.
